


Tangling Threads of Reality

by jest_tal



Series: Out of Place, Out of Time [1]
Category: Mass Effect
Genre: Gen, No Romance, OC insert POV, Thane-focus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-19
Updated: 2015-11-19
Packaged: 2018-05-02 08:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5241926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jest_tal/pseuds/jest_tal
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's no answer to the question of her sanity that she can trust. But, insane or insane, she has to have a purpose. So she decides that she's going to save a life. <br/>Just one life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tangling Threads of Reality

**Author's Note:**

> This is a first for me in several ways. Present tense, first person, drabble format and … the entire thing in OC point of view. I know that I'm venturing into territory most readers don't like with the OC and (please at least read this chapter – don't let this next descriptor throw you too badly) the "self-insert" feel to it (and I stress FEEL) But I wanted to fix something in Mass Effect 3. So I am. Sort of.

She arrives, naked and shivering. A newborn brought into a new, metal, and false world. There is no memory of what happened to bring her here. The air smells weird, the lights seem off. The shame for her overweight, pale and flawed body is nearly completely buried by confusion, and that's likely a good thing. It doesn't take her long to be arrested, despite her clumsy attempts to hide. No identity, says the arresting officer. She thinks he must be in the military. Who are you? Why are you here? How did you get here? Where are you from?

She answers to the best of her ability, earnestly seeking help from this example of trusted authority, and he scoffs. Then he calls in a psyche consultation.

When the psychologist enters the room, her skin is blue and she has sculpted folds of flesh instead of hair.

By the time the girl stops laughing-crying-and-spitting her recognition, the Asari is gone. In the silence left behind, she eventually calms. It's a dream. She cannot be here. It's a weird dream. Or perhaps she's in a coma or someone drugged her. These thoughts are not comforting, but they keep her company through the night, tested against the rage and rush of her fears.

Sometime later the officer comes and tells her that she'll be transferred to a mental institution where she can be helped. He uses a calming voice and gentle words. She barely hears him.

When they come for her, when they escort her from the room, though, she spots him again. This time he is at his desk and she's had time to place his voice. Something snaps in her mind and she grins at him, "Bailey!" she calls familiarly, "Tell me. Have you ever met a Specter named Shepard?"

The woman and man escorting her pause and Bailey just stares for a minute. "No," he says finally. "But I hear she was a good woman."

The girl relaxes at the use of past tense and doesn't speak another word for three days.

* * *

Sometimes she dreams about her husband. About her parents and even her dogs. Those dreams usually do not end well, as she always wakes to a door locked from the outside. Otherwise, the institution seems rather nice. She has no point of comparison but the food is decent, there are plenty of things to read, and the doctors seem sympathetic.

It even helps. As the days go by, she tells those nodding heads all about her life in the past.

And they nod.

And listen.

And give her medications that fuzz her head in a way that is very dream- like indeed.

She never intends to say anything about the hours she'd spent playing a console called an X-Box and even less about a game called Mass Effect. However, as the days wear on, she finds herself becoming quietly desperate for an explanation. What had happened to her? It seems like she must have gone crazy. That was what the doctors were delicately saying and they seemed so wise. So concerned. And it makes sense.

She doesn't mean to tell them. But the words spill forth anyway.

She has enough sense left, barely, to speak slowly and choose her words. She references the events of the first game only, grasping the abstract concept of not screwing up a timeline with the fervency that only a science fiction fan could muster. Bailey had not met Shepard yet. That was in the second game, wasn't it? Maybe. She thinks perhaps…

The doctor puts her on dosages of something called Prateviec-Z and explains how sometimes people make up stories to cope with difficult situations. He hints that perhaps she had been on the Citadel when it was attacked, when the Reaper Sovereign nearly killed everyone and everything. Being powerless in that situation herself, she has fixated on Commander Shepard, imaged herself as controlling the situation through the hero. Did she remember…?

The girl does not.

That doesn't stop her from nodding, from faintly agreeing with him and from taking her dosages regularly.

But part of her… part of her deep down and protected inside… begins waiting.

Waiting to see if colonies start disappearing…

* * *

By the time she hears about Farris Fields, the door to her room is no longer locked at night and her medication has been dialed back to a level that doesn't steal away hours of lucidity at a time.

Two more colonies have also been taken.

She mourns for her husband all over again, but now has reason to keep her melt-down to herself. She sobs under her covers at night and tells the doctors she's just sad because she feels as if she's missing life.

They take that to be a good sign.

She desperately tries to find a plan of action. Something that she can control, something she can pin down in this universe to make it, and herself real. The day-to-day goals (small as they were) of surviving, of reading, of trying to remember details of her past life on the Citadel, are gone. The vast echoing of the space they'd puffed up to fill is now almost unbearable.

She does not belong here.

She is nothing here.

There is no reason to be.

…She has to find one.

The paperwork to give her an identity was filed long ago. The paperwork to release her doesn't take as long and comes with an agreement to return for regular sessions. A job at a local store, three sets of clothing, and a small government stipend is her reward for her progress over the past year.

It's a small stipend. She uses every trick she ever heard of to save up money and eventually steals, begs, and borrows in an attempt to get enough in her accounts.

By the time she has enough credits to book passage to the Citadel, Horizon is already gone.

* * *

She finds a job and a room in a four bedroom apartment filled with bright, happy women. She's still not very comfortable among many of the different species and keeps to herself. She decides to keep a journal and erratically fills it with everything from details on how she'll pull strings from behind the scenes to fantasies of charging right up to Shepard and offering her secrets, her guts, her soul just for the faint crystalline possibility that she might not be alone anymore.

She is alone. No one knows her because she can't trust anyone with what she knows.

After a few weeks she burns the journal.

It's simply bad luck that the day she does so is also the day that she hears Joram Talid has been assassinated.

She runs to the dock, searching for the Normandy. She's frantic, scared, and knows that she's not acting rationally. But she understands that all of her plans are in danger now, and that her inattention, her delays, may have cost her everything.

If Joram is dead, it is because Koylat killed him. If Koylat killed him then Thane Krios is vulnerable in the final missions. If Thane is vulnerable in the final mission there are at least two separate scenarios where his life would be forfeit, one for certainty and one based on the roll of some dice.

She has to tell Shepard. The girl doesn't know how to make sure she'll be believed but that doesn't matter. All she knows is that somehow she needs to get Shepard to pick someone else to hold off the Collector bugs from the group when the time comes.

Somehow. How? God, how? She runs down the docking bay corridor still searching for the answer.

When she rounds the corner and the berthing in front of her holds no Normandy, her mind breaks a little all over again.

* * *

She cannot afford to be arrested. She cannot afford to be singled out. This keeps her from doing anything too drastic to herself or the station. Nothing is set in stone yet, and that thought comforts her.

Planning becomes her new obsession. She writes down a hundred steps to accomplish her task of saving Thane Krios, tears them up, and formulates a hundred more. She scouts out the atrium by C-Sec a dozen times and pinpoints two places to hide a Med-Kit. She volunteers at the Hospital and begins wheedling bits and pieces of first aid training out of a friendly nurse.

But, most importantly, she picks up some extra work as a secretary for one of the shipping groups on the dock. She makes friends with as many of the flight controllers as she can and spins them a story about how her brother is on the Normandy and she is worried about him. The tears that come as she describes their somewhat troubled relationship do not need to be forced. Sympathy is the result and more than one of them promises to let her know the moment Normandy comes in to dock.

She pushes a little farther and gets a promise to be called the moment it hails and requests docking permission.

That has to be enough. She doesn't have the resources for anything else yet.

When the ping on her third-hand refurbished omni-tool comes, weeks later, it makes her jump. No one else has ever called her on it before. There's something about her that throws people off, and the friendships she's cultivated don't necessarily extend that far. She doesn't care. She tells her manager that there's a family emergency and she runs.

She runs. She falls. She fights back hyperventilation and gets up again.

When she reaches the docks, the Normandy is there and the airlock is closed. Deckhands are hooking up various feeds, fuel, waste and oxygen stores, and they don't seem to have finished. The girl hopes. The girl finds a crate and hides in its shadow as she watches.

Eventually the airlock opens.

* * *

She doesn't mean to be dismissive about the people walking out of the Normandy. They have been through hell and it shows. This man looks around the docks with haunted eyes, as if the Collectors will grab him up again. That one seems as if he's been crying.

They are people and she knows this. They are, she'll even slowly acknowledge, as real as she is.

Except, they are not quite as real as /THEY/ are.

This is her new truth, the thing that holds her together. They are the only thing she knows. So they are the only thing that is truly real.

Jack exits, chatting with Zaeed. From her protective corner, the girl watches them, tries to match up the reality to the computer animation in her head. In some ways it is easier to face the turians or the elcor, odd to her senses as they are, then to see these normal humans with eerily familiar faces. There's movement in Jack's clothing that was not captured on the screen. The texture of Zaeed's skin is more pitted, more rugged than the programs must have allowed.

When Miranda and Jacob exit she looks them over eagerly, almost feverishly. The skin tight clothing really doesn't look ridiculous, especially not when compared to some of the other odd fashions she's seen, but for some reason it strikes her funny. She clamps her hand over her mouth to stop herself from laughing. She's not certain she'll be able to stop if she does.

"Home again, home again," says a voice, wearily satisfied. The girl's mind pounces on the reverberations.

"Turian!" her thoughts chime.

"Garrus!" her gut wrenches.

And there he is.

* * *

There isn't enough time to look at him. She could have hours and it might not be enough. She's seen turians before, but she hasn't seen him. The scars on his face fascinated her even in the game, she wants to see them. But he's not speaking enough. He's turning to the side and looking down at the woman who is giving him a sly and snide look.

The girl doesn't make the connection at first, but the voice that responds to Garrus is distinct enough. The woman is Shepard.

… a very attractive Shepard.

A laugh nearly escapes her lips again, remembering the annoyance level of some fans for the third game prettification of the hero.

Her husband would have snorted…

That thought, a mix of wistful and edged, dies very quickly because there's a third shadow joining the group. Shepard has turned to look at him, asking some question about where he's going to go now.

Thane Krios.

A drell. The first drell, in fact, that she's ever seen. He answers Shepard, mentioning a visit to the Presidium. And she does hear it, she does register the words and even has time to faintly muse that it seems Shepard may have chosen Garrus this time around. She thinks that the Commander is standing closer to the tall turian than the drell, but she isn't sure. She can't completely tear her eyes away from Thane to judge.

She can see the speckles on his chest. The white line of fabric that encircles his collar bone made no sense to her in the game, but here it creates depth and shadow against his skin. The rills, ribbing, or whatever the hell it was called along his throat move. They move with every shift of weight and ever so slightly with his breath.

Details that she never would have guessed, that had amused her to find in the other crew members, wrench at her guts now.

His eyes are so dark.

…

His eyes are looking right at her.

* * *

Mortification and fear drive through her like a lance. There is no moment of acknowledgement, no reading of any emotion or question that might have been on his face. She throws herself back behind the crate as if she's fallen off a skyscraper the second she realizes that he's looking at her.

Her shoulder bangs against the corner of the crate and pain blossoms with the dull thud of the sound. It hurts. She grabs her arm and drops to her backside on the floor. It isn't as if she can run. Any running will bring her out in view. Still. Be still. Don't move. Oh, damn it hurts.

She is certain that if they come around the crate to see what the fuss is about she will die. Her heart will stop, explode, her carefully designed notion of her place in this universe as a tool to put one thing right will be gone.

"Problem?" Sound carries in the hanger. That deep reverberation in Garrus' voice reaches her ears despite its relatively soft pitch.

She stops breathing.

"No, I don't think so," it is the Commander who answers. "Can't expect to save the universe without getting a few people coming to gawk, right?"

"Indeed."

Footsteps. Heavy boots lead away. Another question, and more laughter shared.

She starts breathing again, bending her head to touch her knees as she tries to talk some sense into herself. This is silly. This is stupid. It makes no sense.

They shouldn't scare her so badly…

But she doesn't move for several hours.

* * *

She gets a tattoo a few days later. She needs the reminder. She talks herself into accepting the fact that she may be crazy, weak, silly, delusional and powerless. But she makes the choice to be determined. She will keep moving. Everything else is so much bigger than she is, but she'll keep moving and she'll fake strength until it becomes real.

Besides, everything is familiar to her again. Thane Krios is alive. Through various lines of gossip she eventually discovers that no one on the crew has been lost. This is good.

One week. Then another. She counts down the days before she begins searching for them. A human young man and a volus whose name has a v and a b in it. She thinks he is a banker, but she can't be sure. As a result, she is left at loose ends for a bit.

Not so with Mouse. She finds him nearly right away.

She won't say they become friends, but she makes sure that he knows her. Ensures that she is friendly, says hello, and even brings him coffee once. They are able to talk about life in the "lower levels" and she even gets a few tips on some petty jobs that he might, possibly, one day in the future tell her about.

Her plain, well-worn clothing does not endear her to Barla Von, however, once she finds him. The financial advisor seems quite unimpressed with her.

But this is something she could handle. She waits until there is no one around to overhear them.

"I want something from the Shadow Broker," she tells him flatly and her grin is shark-like, "And I have information on the Illusive Man to pay with."

* * *

There'd been a message over the Cerebrus network that she vaguely remembers. A newsflash in that unending stream of newsflashes that she used to just stream by.

A scientist had made some sort of breakthrough in cloning organs, or something like that. She remembers because she'd seen it and noticed that it quite deliberately said "lungs".

At the time, she'd been pleased, figuring that this was the way the developers were going to save Thane. Later, she'd pouted and thrown a minor hissy fit because spoilers had told her the actual case was otherwise.

But, the information was canon. It was out there.

Which means the possibility is there.

Krogans can get battle dinosaurs, code fragments can unlock powers. In this universe, knowledge can do almost anything.

She clings to that. She growls at it and forces it to be true.

"I want the cure for Kepral's Syndrome, delivered to a hospital and doctor of my choice, created in the next six months," the girl tells the volus flatly. "In exchange, I can give key points of information on the Illusive Man."

The sucking, rasping hiss from the volus suit precedes his reply, "Oh really?" Light glints off the glass over his eyes, "And what information do you have to barter with?"

"None of your business," she retorts. "But I know that the Shadow Broker would find it useful. Tell he…go ahead and pass this information along." The near slip makes her blink and shift her weight. "If there's interest, I'll be happy to detail what I have to whomever it is that she wants to… you know… work out the details."

The volus looks at her for a long time, the mechanical background to his breathing filling her ears.

"How do you know I can pass this information on for you?" he says finally, slowly.

She grins at him, "I just told you. I know things."

* * *

There is a certain loosening of her chest as she walks away from Barla Von, cautiously optimistic. She thinks it went well, after all. He agreed to pass the information on and she didn't stutter, hiccup or falter over her words.

She made him think she was confident, which was almost as good as being confident.

When she is visited a week later by a representative of the Shadow Broker, she becomes nearly giddy. He startles her at first, not only by appearing from seemingly out of nowhere but also because he is a drell. She is speechless, thoughtless, until he speaks and impatiently prompts her back to coherency.

But, after a moment, she returns to life again. It isn't Thane (his voice isn't right, nor is his clothing) and it isn't not Kolyat (he doesn't have the dark Cs on his forehead that the young man does).

That means it must be Feron. Liara's close friend and one of the Shadow Broker's most trusted agents. She perks up at the thought and knows he must think her very strange. She's smiling now, even though she's trying very hard not to.

It doesn't matter. She gives him the Illusive Man's name and tells him that the cure must go to Dr. Chakwas and Dr. Michel at Huarta Hospital. He seems skeptical, but she trusts he'll pass the information on.

Liara will follow up on the information. She will try to create a cure. Once that is done, the doctors will be told and from that Thane will be cured.

For the first time in two years, the girl laughs and it comes from a place of relief instead of macabre humor. The buoyancy of it makes her run the rest of the way home. She reaches her ward and twirls for several yards, head thrown back, until she gets too dizzy to stand. She falls, hard, to her knees and struggles to catch her breath.

It is going to be alright.

* * *

There is a man at a coffee stand who calls her beautiful every time he sees her.

Of course, he is over seventy years old and calls every female, regardless of species, beautiful as they buy coffee. However, it makes her feel good anyway. It puts a small smile on her face and, thanks to this newfound effectiveness of hers, she no longer wishes to melt away quite so much.

This makes the realization that she, the little old man at the coffee shop, and everyone else on the citadel is doomed difficult to process.

It had only been a month since she'd spoken with Feron, entirely too soon to look for cures to be forthcoming. But the lack of that weight on her shoulders makes her remember (how could she have forgotten?) how the rest of the story ends.

She does not want to become a husk. Even more than that, she doesn't want others to suffer that fate. It had been implied that everyone on the Citadel had become a casualty to the Reapers. That meant that Bailey, the Blue Rose asari, that senile old woman from the embassy… they would all die. Her roommates, who still occasionally try to pull her out into life and even (though god it had been horrible) set her upon a blind date once, would also die.

But it is an easy enough fix. She'll wait until things have progressed a little further and send Liara another message:

The citadel is the catalyst. There's a prothean artifact on Thessia that'll prove it if you don't believe me. No matter what you do, don't let the Illusive Man find out because he'll tell the reapers and you might want to clear the Citadel before you try anything.

What can possibly go wrong with that?

* * *

One day she's rounding a corner at the hospital and she sees him. Sitting in the lounge, waiting to be called in to see his doctor, he is calm and casual. Her face instantly lights up with a grin and she feels puckish enough to indulge herself in a good long stare. Thane Krios. Reading a three week old magazine on Citadel gossip and cultural events.

She eventually turns away and returns to her duties, switching out linens and re-stocking bathrooms. By the time she returns to the lounge, he is gone.

And that's alright.

In the upcoming months, she continues to see him every now and again. He even nods hello to her once, after catching her looking his way.

* * *

As time treads on, she grows more and more anxious. Uncertainty begins to mark her waking hours. There's no word from the Shadow Broker on a cure and it's almost been five months now.

She only has six months.

Six months until earth is attacked.

Six months until supplies become limited.

Six months until Chakwas leaves.

It isn't long before one of the doctors offers to prescribe her something for stress, citing the mess of her lower lip as cause for concern. She bites it, nibbles on it, when she feels disconnected. Never hard, she is no fan of pain, but often. Dry lips chap and tear so easily.

It is enough.

And every day makes her visibly more afraid as it passes.

* * *

She is almost to the point where she is going to go bother Barla Von, annoy him, question him, bug him, until he gives her answers. She has it all planned until she finds Feron waiting for her outside her door. Her eyes are huge as she waits for him to explain the delays and confirm the success. He apparently feels no need to explain anything, but tells her that everything is ready to go. He just needs that information she promised.

She smiles at him and tells him the precisely worded answer she'd memorized so long ago. Eva Mendes, soon to be assigned to the Mars archives, is a Cerebrus plant who likely isn't human. It'd probably be a good idea to let her be there, but just keep an eye on her. Better the demon you know then one you don't, right?

Feron nods, expression hard to read, and leaves.

She is so ecstatic that it is hard to wait. She gives it four days before she casually mentions to Doctor Michel something about the poor drell with Keprals that she's seen come in. Isn't it horrible there is no cure?

"Yes, it is a shame. It is worse when there is a cure and people will not take it," the doctor glances to one of the patient rooms, but the girl doesn't notice.

She's too busy fighting the vertigo that's swept through her. She sputters, she stammers. Her head feels very far away and she doesn't know exactly what she says in reply.

She fears, however, that she says it all at the top of her lungs.

* * *

By the time she can think again, she's lying down on a spare cot and she's been handed a glass of water to sip slowly.

She mutters to herself, shaking her head.

No. No. No. No. No.

He can't do this. He just can't.

She reaches out and grabs a passing nurse. Does Chakwas know about this? The nurse, of course, has no idea what she's talking about and pries herself away. The girl chews her lip again and tastes blood.

No. No. No.

She spots Dr. Michel leaving one of the rooms and the glass (such an odd thing as privacy stripping as it is) lets her see something of the inside. There is Thane Krios, sitting on one of the beds within.

She stands up and takes a few steps forward, the better to see him. Her arms cross protectively, fiercely, over her chest. He looks up and through the glass at her.

For once, she doesn't look away. She doesn't blush. She doesn't smile.

She glares at him. She glares at him with every fiber of her body radiating her displeasure and pure downright fury. Her teeth ache from how hard she is clenching them and her ears hurt for how loud she's screaming at him in her mind.

He can't do this! She will go in and throttle him herself, she will tie him down, she will slap him and drag his son in to….something… She won't let it….

She registers the fact that he looks rather startled now. Then, strangely enough, he looks rather fuzzy.

That's very odd indeed.

The world begins to tilt and Dr. Michel is there, helping her back on the cot. She's told that the sedative she's been given is a mild one, and that she should just relax.

She can't bring herself to relax. She just cries instead.

* * *

She lies about a family member who died of a disease, horribly, struggling for every additional moment of life. They believe her and tell her to take a few days to recover.

They can't have outbursts like that in the hospital. She is warned.

She goes home and tries to regain her calm. She spends a night in front of the mirror gently talking herself down from her hysteria, occasionally stroking the glass as she does so.

"It's alright, honey," she tells herself, "You just need to talk to Mouse. You can tell him about it and maybe he'll do something. And you can message Shepard as well. If anyone can convince him, it'll be her."

There's a sad realization that, if Thane doesn't want to be cured, that he must want to die. It draws her up short and she spends several hours contemplating what that means.

Perhaps… it means that she should not count on Shepard or Mouse.

Perhaps… it means that it is her responsibility to tell him that he is needed. That he matters. That … what was his lament when he'd failed to save his son? Taking darkness out of the world wasn't the same as bringing light into it.

Maybe she should tell him that he brought light into it. Maybe he'd listen.

He is just a person, right? A man without his wife and son. Dying, slowly, alone.

Maybe he is just afraid.

Maybes mean nothing, and wrestling with them gives her no peace. She returns to the hospital three days later, dressed and groomed much more neatly than her usual. She surreptitiously looks for Thane, but doesn't find him anywhere.

By mid-day, she is emotionally exhausted by her anxious waiting. She almost misses Dr. Chakwas walking by in surgical scrubs. She looks around, lost, and finds one of the nurses. A friend. She is given a smile and a pat on the shoulder.

"Your shouting the other day seems to have made an impression," she says, "Mr. Nuara agreed to be the first drell undergoing the reconstruction and gene therapy for Keprals syndrome."

"He didn't hear me," the girl says faintly, desperately.

The nurse chuckles, "No dear. Of course he didn't. I was kidding."

* * *

When the first reports from Earth come in, the girl is somewhat bemused to realize that she hadn't thought about the impending reaper attack much at all. It has been a sign post that she's been aware of, but to actually think of it as an event in of itself just hadn't occurred to her.

She realizes this probably makes her a bad person.

The scenes of destruction are horrific and she is indeed horrified by them. She twiddles with her fingers and tells herself that she should not feel guilty. There is absolutely nothing she could have done.

Thane is still in recovery, and in a week he's got company just a room down. Kaiden Alenko looks like a raccoon as he heals, and she can pick his voice out of a dozen when she hears it from his open doorway.

Avoiding both rooms is pretty easy.

There's only one thing that bothers her now. Or at least, only one thing she'll allow herself to think on anyway. Thane's fight with Kei Lang. She can't get a lot of information on the recovery time for this therapy, she can feel the trap just waiting to spring on her if she shows any interest in Thane's progress at the hospital.

However, even at a best case scenario, Thane can still be wounded in that fight. Healthy or not. She's already hidden some medi-gel packs around that stairwell she remembers from the game, and she tells herself that will be enough.

She just has to time things right to make sure he gets it, should he be run through again.

Weeks pass.

She watches Kaidan heal and leave.

She watches Thane heal and stay.

It occurs to her that she hadn't thought about what would happen if he'd rejoined the Normandy. It's another example of her stupidity, her lack of forethought. This time, however, it doesn't cripple her. It makes her sad and grim as she trudges through the days.

In the end, there's no warning for when Cerberus attacks. There are only the sounds of explosions, the cries of people, and acrid tang of smoke in the air.

Hearing it all makes her feel unaccountably relieved, like a call that she has been waiting for has finally arrived. She's also vaguely pleased that she's so close to the Promenade. She's never been a fast runner and it wouldn't do at all to be late…

* * *

The problem with running through a place that is under attack is that there are typically bullets flying through the air while you are doing it.

She reaches the levels of the promenade that she remembers (This One's Intimate Apparel, indeed) and has just enough time to realize that she's not in the best of positions. Glass is being broken, people are being shot down and she finds herself huddling behind a potted plant.

It is a slaughter and everyone is screaming around her.

She makes herself as small as she can, and tries to block out the sound of someone choking on their own blood, just a few yards away.

Someone. Not a bunch of pixels.

Oh, God…

That thought, that recognition of the carnage around her, tempts her and she finds herself shaking violently.

People are dying and she's planning to run out into it all…

People are dying and she's planning to run by them all...

…Such a bad person…

She brutally kills that line of thought, rejects it and the cold paralysis it brings.

No. They aren't people. They are characters in a game. They have to be.

They aren't people.

They aren't real.

She isn't real.

She can't be hurt because she isn't real.

She has to get to Thane. She has to do something right.

With that as her litany, she bolts from behind cover. There are stairs and she takes them. A bustle of people in front of her round a corner and gun fire is their answer. She drops to the ground and keeps going.

Just move.

She can do that.

* * *

It's quiet.

There are the occasional shouts in the distance, but for the most part it is quiet.

She's not entirely happy with her placement. Originally she'd planned on taking up camp at the bottom of the stairs, right in front of the taxi landing. That way, if Thane made it down as he had in the game, she'd be right there. And if he hadn't, well she could just walk up. She'd be out of the way, unseen, for the fight either way.

Except, the stairs look so long now.

She curls up, instead, half under one of the desks.

It's so quiet.

She rests her head on her arm, a pillow against the cold deck plates. She waits and, for an endless amount of time, becomes mesmerized by the blood pooling up past her clothing. So slow. Millimeter by millimeter.

She's not sure why it doesn't hurt. It hurt when it happened, the sudden pressure, the flare of white hot pain. She chuckles at herself. She can take no credit for being strong or brave. She doesn't remember moving. She doesn't remember walking the rest of the way here.

Maybe an angel picked her up and carried her? That would be nice. God must like Thane too, right?

She debates hiding the medi-gel behind her to make sure no one takes it, but decides against it. No one but Shepard should be coming by and Shepard would help Thane. This is fact.

That settled, she loses something of herself. She forgets that she shouldn't be moving. That she needs to play dead. She reaches her left hand over and begins to create swirls and whorls in her own blood. She doesn't hear when the hiss and snap of a stealth generator goes off.

"Chchhhcchh…." she mumbles in response to the glass shattering against the floor. She can make sounds too. The pock pock sounds are even easier to imitate.

Something hits the ground heavily in front of her and she inhales sharply. Masked eyes turn abruptly to her and she is snarled at. Kai Leng wastes no time on her though; he rises to his feet and charges again at Thane.

Adrenaline jolts through the girl's system and she levers herself up, just in time to see Kai Leng 's sword sweep forward and Thane's outstretched arm blocked.

**______________________________________**

When the girl had been much younger, she'd fainted while biking with her father. She still remembers the odd sensation of reality just popping into existence around her when she woke again and the vague sensation that something "other" had been in its place just moments before.

She watches Kai Leng leap over the side of the stairwell, less than a yard away, and is certain that she is in that same "other" place now. Lucidity is playing with her, showing her everything going on but keeping her distant from it.

The gunshots as Shepard rushes after Kei Lang are clear, but Thane doubled over and coughing is even clearer. The girl rallies and grabs the med-kit, holding it close to her chest as she slowly stands.

"Thane!" Shepard calls.

"I have time," Thane rasps back as loudly as he apparently can, "Catch him."

He is on his knees now, slumping to his backside.

She doesn't remember him coughing like this.

She tries very hard not to be afraid. She isn't sure what will happen if she becomes afraid. It will be alright. She has the medi-gel. She knows how to apply it. Shepard will call for the paramedics, he will be fine.

She has his hand in hers. How strange? When had she done that? His skin is cool, smooth in a way that human skin is not.

"You know…Shepard?"

Just focus. She bats aside his coat, ignoring the words he speaks, and takes a sloppy handful of the gel.

He isn't impaled through the chest. Instead, fabric is slashed to the side. Past the ribs, almost missed, but cut through muscle and skin of his side.

That isn't as bad as impaled, is it? No, it can't be. It has to be better. But, it means more blood loss. She inhales sharply and begins to apply medi-gel fervently. Her hand is shaking, she doesn't realize she is leaned in so far until her head brushes up against his shoulder, blocking her own light but steadying her.

Oh, it's a nice shoulder, too.

"… you are wounded…"

He keeps talking. He should stop that. She reaches blindly for the remaining medi-gel before realizing that she really should probably … she should probably… straighten up now.

His coat smells like leather and dust. Arid. She doesn't want to move. She thinks that maybe… just maybe… she'd earned not moving.

She feels like a wet blanket. Maybe she is one.

"I doubt that's the case…" Thane's voice is very quiet, controlled.

She smiles. Reality is draining away beneath her, or maybe it is clawing her back, she can't tell. Either way, she thinks back to her parents, to her husband, to her home. Then she thinks about the concern she believes she can hear in Thane's voice. It's sweet, but not as sweet as the strength in it. The lack of coughing, the lack of masked pain.

He shifts, reaching for something. She remains limp against him. "Tell me your name?"

She tells him then, giving him the name that she'd chosen for herself so long ago in that institution. She laughs a breath as she does so.

"Mary Sue…"

She closes her eyes and finally, finally, lets go.

End

 


End file.
